The Call
by Poe's-Raven
Summary: A reaction to the Virginia Tech shootings earlier today. Shaken and scared, the only way I could cope was through this. A short drabble from the perspective of an unnamed shinigami. COMPLETE.


To all my friends at Virginia Tech. Please mourn for the losses. Bleach is a means to my end, but I own it not. If the opening makes you mad, please read through the whole thing before you get angry with me. I am not trying to belittle the incident in any way.

Thank you.

**Sometimes I Hate My Job.**

And this is one of those times. Ambulances piled up. I can't even get the cell service I need because those humans have attacked the lines, looking for their loved ones. It was only about thirty people, I mused. There were so many tragedies I had seen that were greater, more gruesome, more bloody.

Sure, they could mourn. Why such a big deal over such a small number? We've had to create an entire subdivision for Iraq, and I can clearly remember the overtime we all pulled during the tsunami a few years back, and Katrina. So many lives, in an infinite sea. Why do thirty matter just as much as millions?

I trudged, having already separated from my squad, combing for the souls scattered across the campus and nearby hospitals. I would my way to a dormitory, where a blonde overly make-upped student floated aimlessly. I walked to her.

She was sobbing, but, being dead, the makeup did not run. Thirty or three million, numbers flew out the window in a moment. Instead of unsheathing my sword and performing konso right then and there, I reached out and sat down next to her. I knew full well if I didn't help clear out the souls, Hollows would come. Bt this girl looked too scared to want to leave. She wouldn't be happy in the afterlife until her business here was finished.

"I called her a bitch…" she started, talking to nobody, as she had yet to look up and recognize me. "The last thing I ever said to her was that she was a bitch. Fuck!"

"I know it may sound cliché, but it's ok," I said, loud enough for him to hear, but quietly enough for her to not be startled. "I'm dead, too"

Her breathing cut short, and she began to hyperventilate. I reached forward, gently talking her down while stroking her back in slow, calm circles. She was one of a few. No lesser than anyone else who has ever, or will ever, die. I gulped. I had been such an insensitive dick myself. How could I calm her down when I had just jaded and quantified the situation? It had been a simple numbers game. But here, before me, sat a girl. A single, scared, lonely, girl.

"See, there? I'm here." Her eyes still watered. I continued to talk aimlessly as she began to uncoil her tension. "Would you like something to drink? Eat?" I knew she would not be hungry, only the usual minute trickle of spiritual pressure of an average spirit emanated off her. That didn't mean I couldn't give her food to calm her down.

"Tea."

I took the bamboo flask off my hip and passed it to her. "It's bitter, but it would do you some good. No Lipton. We don't have a lot of commercial products on the other side."

"Are you the… Grim Reaper?" she asked me, wiping the last of her tears away and swallowing half the contents of my flask in a gulp.

"You could say that. I'm here to bring you over." My cell phone beeped, and I pulled it out. Soul Society installed a temporary tower for shinigami phones.

"A phone?"

"Government issued. I said no commercial products, not no technology," I sighed, I could get fired for doing this, but I really did not know what came over me at that moment. "I can send a call and have it dated a few hours back. You could… leave a message for the person you spoke to. Only one. And only if it goes into their voicemail. I could get fired for you talking to the living."

"It was my mom." She looked at me hesitantly. "You could do that?"

"Just give me the number." She reeled it off, digit by digit. The phone went to my ear.

One ring.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Her mother was probably frantically trying to call her or her friends. I presumed, and this was really call waiting. One more ring sounded, and a recording of a pleasant sounding woman came on. I pressed a few buttons to make the call untraceable and backdated, and quickly handed the phone to the girl.

She paused a moment, breathing deeply, before speaking the four words she wished she could say to the woman's face.

"Mom… I love you."

Click.


End file.
